


Shadow Walkers

by TwinEnigma



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Study, Dorks in Love, F/M, Flirting, POV Rose, Pete's World Torchwood, Time Travel, friends who are also lovers, honestly these dorks, there's a plot eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 13:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12014028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinEnigma/pseuds/TwinEnigma
Summary: Imagine, for a moment, that you could perceive time, that you could go anywhere in time and space. Imagine the possibilities – you could learn so much, answer so many questions!Or, Rose and her Doctor, on Pete's World, in the TARDIS.





	1. Chapter 1

_Imagine, for a moment, that you could perceive time._

 

* * *

 

                Rose can’t help but notice it.

                This new Doctor – _her_ Doctor, some traitorous part of her whispers – is practically vibrating with nervous energy as they stand on the cool, Norwegian beach, waiting for their ride.

                “Doctor?” she asks and it is a test as much as it is curiosity.

                He twitches his head up almost immediately, his eyes locking on hers for just the barest of moments before his lips contort into that familiar, easy grin.  “Rose Tyler,” he says, rolling the syllables over his tongue with clear, mischievous fondness.  “New Doctor, new Earth.”

                The response catches her momentarily off guard, because she had not honestly expected it and yet, to her utter embarrassment, she realizes that it is such a perfectly _him_ thing to say.

                He wiggles his eyebrows at her, holding out his hand – the hand he’d lost so long ago – and she cannot help smiling back.  Her fingers twine with his, as if on autopilot.  His hands are warmer than she recalls them being, but that is all right when she compares it to the last time he changed.  This is just a small change, really.  And yet, if she licks her lips, she can still taste him on them: now _that_ is very new.

                “New, new Doctor,” Rose agrees, at last.

                The new Doctor laughs and closes the distance between them, his other hand finding its way to the small of her back to tug her closer.  He leans in, his eyes blazing as he stares into hers, and for a moment, she thinks she can see the vast echo of space expanding in their depths.  She is so enchanted by the illusion that she almost misses his words: “And a whole new universe to explore.”

                “Oi, get a _room_ , you two,” her mother, forgotten, calls out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                Rose finds it funny how easily she and this new Doctor fall back into pace with each other.  He slides into the empty places in her life with ease, filling those voids she had subconsciously drawn around his missing presence.  For the first time in a long time, she feels totally complete.  Up and down and round and round they go, like a pair of binary stars locked in each other’s gravity.  Some days, it feels as if they have never been separated, that nothing has changed at all.

                Other days, however, the fact that they have both changed becomes jarringly clear: she is not the same Rose he last saw on that beach, so long ago, and he is not the same man she watched disappear like so much dust in the wind.  They have both grown.  She is a little less willing to stand idly by and let him have his way and he – he trusts her more and more with the totality of himself than the last him ever had.

                It is all right, though.  These are not bad things and they both know it.  If anything, they have both learned to cherish each other all the more.

                After all, as he was so fond of reminding her, human lives are incredibly short.  There is no sense in wasting a single second.


	2. Chapter 2

_Now, imagine that you could go anywhere you wanted in time._

 

* * *

 

 

                Their spare room is a mess, littered with scavenged pieces of alien technology and cobbled-together tools.  Grease and a whole host of chemical substances she cannot name are spattered liberally around the room and smeared across numerous sticky notes and schematics.  There is very little in this room that is written in English – a precaution to protect this valuable knowledge from undeserving hands.  All else is written in the intricate looping whorls of Gallifreyan.

                In the center of the room, a delicate, spindly growth of crystal lattice glows with warm, copper light.  The crystal is just starting to curve and bend outwards, forming what will become the default exterior of a fully-grown TARDIS, but already it is showing signs of bending into a decidedly more familiar box-shape.  Underneath it, the twisted and split remains of a pie tin serve as the last hint to its humble beginnings as a lump of crystalline coral little bigger than her fist.

                Rose looks at him, her Doctor, slumped in his chair at the workbench.  He is snoring, biro still clasped firmly in his grease-covered fingers, but she cannot help noticing the smile on his lips and she finds that her own lips begin to quirk into a smile almost of their own accord.  She tugs the blanket off her shoulders, gently draping it over his.

                He stirs a little, murmuring her name in his sleep, and buries his face in the crook of his arm.  When he finally wakes, he will have smeared bits of illegible Gallifreyan on his face and grease on his nose, but it’s so fundamentally _him_ that Rose would not have it any other way.

                Besides, she thinks, it would be terrible to wake him when he looks so at completely at peace.

 

* * *

 

 

                “You’re not going without them,” Pete states, his hands folded in front of him.  He sits behind his desk at Torchwood, glaring across it at them as if they were not family.  In his eyes is the cool distance he affords to his subordinates and utilizes in business affairs.

                “Dad,” Rose begins to say, but already he is waving her away.

                “This isn’t negotiable,” he says simply.  His tone leaves no room for argument and carries an undercurrent of an unsaid _not like last time_.

                The Doctor, at her side, fidgets in his seat.  “Well, it’s not as if we don’t appreciate the sentiment… but this is really unnecessary, Pete.  We’ll be completely fine.  We’re not even going very far.”

                “No, not very far at all,” Rose quickly adds, nodding.  “Just to Barcelona – the planet.”

                “Nice place, very peaceful,” the Doctor clarifies.  “And we’ll be back the same moment we left.”

                But Pete is not moved an inch by their attempts to mollify him and, idly, Rose marvels at how easily she’s forgotten that this Pete is both soldier and spy, capable of switching between a dozen masks even in front of those that know him best of all.  More than that, he is a _commander_ and never has it been more patently clear than now, with him staring down the length of this desk at them.

                “No,” he says, “And that is final.  You take a unit with you or you don’t go at all.  Those were the conditions you agreed to.”

                “Yes, to keep you Torchwood lot from meddling!” the Doctor is indignant as he gets to his feet.  He jabs his finger towards his father-in-law, eyes narrowed, and grounds out, “This is _preposterous._  I am nine-hundred and four years old!  I don’t _need_ to be babysat.”

                At that, Pete’s iron facade cracks a little and a wry smile crosses his lips.  “Not according to Jacks.”

                Rose groans, practically collapsing into her seat as she buries her face in her hands.  She should have guessed her mother had a hand in this and, even if she did not, Rose knew well that Pete had heard enough stories to draw his own conclusions as both parent _and_ commander.

                “Is that what this is about?  She knows I always bring Rose back safely!” the Doctor protests.

                Pete doesn’t say anything: he doesn’t have to.  He merely raises an eyebrow and the Doctor reels back as if struck, his face ashen.

                Rose says nothing.  They are both right and they both have a point: the Doctor had always brought her back safely, except for the times when he hadn’t brought her back at all.  It’s a low blow all the same.

                For a moment, silence reigns.

                Then, Peter lowers his hands and this time the expression on his face is not unkind, but rather one of understanding.  “Doctor, if it helps, think of it more as being for Jackie’s peace of mind.  I promise, they will not get underfoot nor interfere unless they are given cause to.  I’ll even let you choose your own team.  But you’re _not_ going without them.”

                They stare at each other for a while longer, he and the Doctor.  Then, at last, the Doctor sinks back into his chair with a long, tired sigh, and runs a hand through his hair in quiet, understated frustration.  This is one battle it appears he is well-aware that he cannot win.

                “Very well,” the Doctor relents.

                So much for having the TARDIS to themselves, Rose thinks.


	3. Chapter 3

_Anywhere in time and space – it doesn’t matter._

 

* * *

 

 

                Rose is the one who ends up tasked with selecting the team.  The Doctor refuses to have any part of it and sulks whenever the subject is brought up.  And yet, despite his repeated and vehement declarations that he is not getting involved, he still has an opinion to render on each candidate.

                “I don’t like him,” the Doctor says from the corner.  He is spinning back and forth on the office chair as if he were four and not actually nine-hundred years older.

                Rose sighs.  She finds that she is doing that a lot lately.  “Do we have a reason?”

                “Royal we, I like that,” he says and presses his tongue against his teeth as he steeples his fingers against each other.  “Nah, not really.  I just don’t like soldiers.”

                She purses her lips and, for a moment, she idly wonders if he is at all aware of the hypocrisy in his words.  Then, prudently, she decides to let the matter drop.

                “Well, I’ll just put him on the maybe stack then, all right?” she says, closing the folder.

                “No soldiers,” he states, firmly, and then suddenly he is up, out of the chair and pacing.  “How about a schoolteacher?  Can’t we have a schoolteacher?  Wouldn’t that be a nice change?”

                Rose rolls her eyes, watching him pace.  “We don’t _know_ any schoolteachers – least not ones with clearance, anyway.”

                The Doctor huffs, turning to look at her: “What about that girl?  Tony’s teacher at… um… oh, that school… what was the name of it?  I keep forgetting.  We could take her!  She seems like a nice girl.”

                “You want us to kidnap Tony’s teacher for a trip through time and space?” Rose asks, trying very hard to keep a straight face.

                “Why not?  We could take the whole class.  It’d be educational,” he says brightly, one of those infuriatingly sweet smiles on his face.  She hates those smiles.  They make it next to impossible to tell if he’s joking or not.

                “Doctor, we’re _not_ taking Tony’s class on the TARDIS,” Rose states, putting her proverbial foot down.  “Mum would _actually_ kill you this time.”

                He leans down then, still smiling, until his nose is almost touching hers.  His eyes are dark with mischief and starlight, the whole of time and space almost pulsing in their depths.   “We could be back before she even knows it, Rose Tyler.”

                The way he says her name, that rolling almost-purr, sends a pleasant tingle down her spine and coils low in the most animal parts of her brain, as if he’d caressed her then and there.  And with his lips so close, within easy kissing distance, she can feel her face heating up. 

                It’s not playing fair, that’s what it is.

                Rose takes a deep breath and gently pushes him aside so she can stand.  “Doctor, you vastly underestimate my mum.”

                “Oi!” he protests.

 

* * *

 

 

                It’s strange traveling with so many people, Rose thinks – strange, but not entirely unwelcome.  Their TARDIS feels warmer and brighter somehow.  Even the Doctor’s temperament is considerably improved.  It is as if they’d been missing some crucial spark all along and simply had never noticed until now.

                And, much as she is loath to admit it, Rose finds it an immense relief to have ways of grounding herself in reality in the form of other people.  She remembers all too well how dangerously easy it is to get lost in the manic wonder that is the Doctor when he and the TARDIS are the only constants, the desperation to impress him, to _prove_ that his faith is well-placed, and the terrible, aching way that it consumes the entirety of one’s world.  More than that, she is also very well aware of his capacity for casual cruelty to those he believes to have betrayed those very hopes and expectations.

                After all, _this_ him is a most poignant reminder of that very fact.

                Not that one would ever know it, what with the way his stupid face lights up as he prattles on about other worlds and times to the team and leads them around, as if he were merely some professor on lecture and not a time traveler from another world guiding them through history’s wake.

                The Doctor smiles then, laughing brightly.

                In it, she sees something wondrous.

                He is not the big-eared survivor that took her hand, nor is he the dashing charmer that followed and he is certainly not the devastated man who burned up stars for one more moment with her, only to walk away.  He is becoming altogether something new as they travel once more.  And yet, it does not feel new: rather, it feels like he is slipping into a pair of old, comfy shoes.  They are not the same shoes that they once were, that much is clear, but she supposes it doesn’t much matter since it’s not really about the shoes, so much as what the shoes represent.

                For the first time in a long time, she sees that the Doctor is truly fully allowing himself to move forward and reclaiming something of himself he’d obviously thought long lost to him.

                _Physician, heal thyself_ , she thinks with a smile.

                Here, safe among those she has chosen to protect them, he is able to do just that.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Imagine the possibilities – you could learn so much, answer so many questions!_

 

* * *

 

 

                “This universe is a strange one,” the Doctor confides in her one day, while they sit in a café in a distant future, on the planet Nx-89, Wlhal constellation.

                It is a rare moment for the both of them to be out here enjoying the local scenery on their lonesome like this.  It’s hard to talk about certain things with the crew around, especially since neither of them had ever quite gotten around to revealing their extra-parallel origins.  The right time for that conversation simply never seems to present itself and it’s certainly not something one simply shares over a cuppa.  No, far better to wait until after they’ve broken the new lot in to something a bit more fantastic, like New York to the fifteenth power of New.

                Rose raises an eyebrow.  “Is it, yeah?”

                He hums in agreement, nodding, and leans back in his chair, looking out over the vastness of the endless misty silver waterfalls of Nx-89.  There is something distant in his eyes and expression, a soft sort of wonder and pleasant surprise.  At last, he says, “It’s _different_.”

                “Not in a bad way, I hope,” she says, bemused.

                “No, no,” he replies, twitching his head to the side like he always does.  He pauses, looking out into the shining mist, dark eyes searching, and then he smiles at her, cheeky as can be.  “It’s nice – all these _changes_.  Keeps things fresh.”

                “That last one caught you off guard, did it?” she teases.

                He scoffs, feigning insult, but his smile is back not half a moment later.

 

* * *

 

 

                They are covered in mud and slime that vaguely resembles lime-flavored gelatin and Bob, formerly from HR, has a gash in his arm from where he’d fallen while running.  The TARDIS doors snap shut once the last of them is through and she automatically dematerializes into the relative safety of the Vortex while they are occupied catching their breath.  Someone, somewhere at the back of the sodden, filthy crew, giggles.

                For a moment, there’s complete silence.

                Then, someone else snorts and starts to giggle, too.

                It spreads like wildfire and, soon, everyone is laughing.   The sound resonates endlessly, filling the room and echoing down the corridors of the TARDIS like a tidal wave.

                “We just saved a planet,” Trudy from Research states breathlessly, her eyes wide and bright in spite of the green grime covering her.  It stands out starkly against the backdrop of her dark skin.  A smile slowly breaks across her face as she repeats in awe: “We just _saved_ a planet.”

                Whoops and jubilant cries fill the air as the team processes their victory in a cavalcade of hugs and handshakes, whirling about the room.  The laughter begins anew.

                Rose hangs back a bit, moving to join the Doctor, who is watching the team with a proud smile.  For all his bluster and complaints about being forced to have chaperones, Rose knows better than anyone how much he really cares.   And today, today they have impressed him – no, impressed them _both_.  Their success is as much hers as it is his.  He nudges her a little with his elbow, inclining his head towards the team, and she smiles playfully, nudging him right back.

                Side by side, they watch the unfolding celebrations, content to bask in the wonder and joy of this moment they have helped shape.

                Victories like this are few and far between, as they well know.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_There would be no time or place you could not go._

 

* * *

 

 

                “Ever wonder what happened to them?” the Doctor asks, one day.  “You know… people you’ve met?”

                They’re in London, 2063, and the summer has just given way to fall.  It’s just them this time, no team, no crew, no notice – just them and the TARDIS, running like mad for a bit of breathing room.

                “Not really,” Rose answers, shrugging.  She looks down, kicking her feet absently as she braces her arms on the wall they’re sitting on.  “They’re… It wouldn’t be the same, you know?”

                The Doctor nods absently, his gaze elsewhere or maybe, more accurately, else- _when_.

                “Different world, different lives,” she adds, looking up.  “There didn’t used to be a _Rose Tyler_ in this world, ‘member?”

                “Well,” he says, looking at her, “there was the dog.”

                “Stop it, you’re so cheeky,” she says, smiling, and bumps against him with her shoulder.

                He smiles, nudging her back, and for a moment everything is fine.

                Then, as if a cloud had flitted across the sun once more, their smiles slip and silence falls.

                “It’s not like we’re not going to see them again,” she says.  And she’s right: this isn’t the last they’ll see of this crew.  It’s just a reassignment, a changing of the guard as it were, and they’d known it was coming.

                It still hurts.

                “I know,” he says, sullenly.  “It’s just… I’m going to miss them.”

                 “I’ll miss them, too,” she admits.

 

* * *

 

 

                Later, she does not fail to notice the way his hand hovers over the controls, as if he is thinking of someone long lost, before he sets them back to their current home coordinates.

                There was a time that she might have been jealous, that she might not have understood, but she is no longer that girl: she has grown.  And the woman that she is now recognizes the pain in his expression and understands its source.  More than that, she understands its necessity.

                The Doctor grieves, in his own way.

                And in the morning, when she wakes, he is himself once more.

                The fact that she knows he has not slept is never mentioned.

                He is always, quietly, grateful for that.

 

* * *

 

 

                Time passes, the old crews go and the new crews come, and Rose and the Doctor remain constant.  They try not to get too attached to this one or the next that comes after them, but it’s impossible.  This crew, like the last, is there to stay and stay they do, even long after they’ve left their rotation on the TARDIS.  They weave in and out of their lives, from mission to mission and office to office, and they’re always first to volunteer to come back on board the next time assignment rotations come around.  Even the TARDIS finds ways to get them to stay a spell, purposefully letting her panels or gears loose when they stop by to say hello; the Doctor finds this exasperating and endearing in equal measure.

                They had asked, of course, why they couldn’t just keep the one crew, and Pete had made some perfectly, _infuriatingly_ reasonable excuses about Torchwood teams needing experience and broadening their horizons if they ever wanted to become a better agency, one that the Doctor could be proud of attaching his experience to.  What remains perhaps the most galling thing about that line of tripe is the fact that it had actually _worked_.

                And so, here they are again, sitting in his office, waiting for approval on the new crew.

                It’s rather become something of a competition among the agents to see who makes the cut.  Overall Torchwood productivity shoots up nearly 40% every time there’s word of TARDIS flight crew selection coming up.  After all, it’s well-known that it’s anyone’s game and no one wants to pass up the chance at _all of time and space_.

                “Sort of flattering, isn’t it?” the Doctor asks, watching the agents try to _discreetly_ peek into Pete’s office.  He’s leaning against the back of his chair, one arm crossed over his chest.   His other arm is propped against it, fingers resting at his chin.

                “Oi, weren’t you the one who was opposed to all this?” Rose teases.

                He blinks, lifting his hand a little.  “Blimey, I suppose I was.”

                “You forgot,” she says, smiling as she gives him a sly look.

                “Oi!” he fires back.

                “Are you two done flirting?” Pete asks, not even bothering to look at them as he approaches the office window and deliberately presses the button for the blinds.  Hopeful agents scatter, looking properly chastised.

                Rose blushes bright red, one of her hands going over her face.

                “Definitely not,” the Doctor says, _sotto voce_ , and Rose gives him a pointed look.

                He merely wiggles his eyebrows at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I can't promise updates will be quick, but I can promise they'll be big? 
> 
> When they strike, I mean. 
> 
> Dreadful business, inspiration. Also, the plot is slow in revealing itself, but the threads are there.


End file.
